


I'm trying to be more conversational

by Jadzia_Bear



Series: I don't believe intelligence can be accurately quantified [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, and no crime scenes or murder or gore or anything, but no graphic anxiety depicted, character with anxiety, just sweet tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia_Bear/pseuds/Jadzia_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jane's research leads them to Quantico, Darcy sets her sights on getting a date with the most adorkable criminal profiler in the business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm trying to be more conversational

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen a couple of seasons of Criminal Minds (I can't really handle all the murder and gore) so apologies for any inconsistencies with canon, but I love Spencer Reid with the fire of a thousand suns and it's been really fun to add him to the Darcyland sandbox ;)
> 
> Many thanks to kittywings01 for the beta <3

Darcy’s gaze flits between the two cappuccinos she’s making and the table in the corner where Dr Spencer Reid, her very favourite regular, is sipping his soy latte and reading a book.

He doesn’t always have time to sit. More often than not, he grabs his latte to-go on the way to work in the morning, and other days he doesn’t come in at all if he’s travelling for work. But some days, if she’s lucky, he’ll ask for his coffee in a ceramic mug and settle into one of the thrift shop couches to read.

It’s usually always work-related reading, as far as she can tell: criminology textbooks, biographies of serial killers, print-outs of journal articles. They’ve shared enough small talk as he waits for his order for her to know what he does for a living.

There was a time when it would have freaked her out, talking about serial killers (and okay, maybe it still freaks her out just a tad), but knowing there are aliens out there that could put an end to the entire human race without even breaking a sweat tends to put a lot of other things in perspective.   

Life-altering discoveries aside, part of being Jane’s intern means traipsing after Jane to whatever corner of the globe Jane deems necessary, and the ‘intern’ part of being Jane’s intern means that, once they settle in a new location, Darcy needs to find a job that pays her in something other than enthusiastic science jargon and distracted replies.

Hence, her current gig in a tiny coffee shop in Quantico. Darcy makes a mean latte, and the military are playing nice, for the moment at least, providing Jane with funding and assistance in exchange for a look at her data, so Darcy’s days are currently divided between the marine corps base and the coffee house.

CJ’s Coffee skirts the line between shabby chic and straight up shabby, with its mismatched furniture and insufficient lighting, but the indie band posters and home-made cupcakes keep it just this side of charming, and Darcy’s co-workers are tolerable, which is the most important thing.

Darcy steals another glance at Spencer as she spoons foam onto the cappuccinos and decides it should be illegal for someone to look that good in a purple paisley shirt, sweater vest and skinny tie. It doesn’t stop there, though. The Chucks, the sports coat with the elbow patches, the slightly unruly hair, not to mention the top button left undone under the loosened knot of his tie. It’s like he gets up each morning and asks himself ‘How many of Darcy’s buttons can I press today?’

Spoiler alert, the answer is _all of them_.

Darcy is under no illusions that she’s utterly smitten, and she has a fairly strong suspicion he feels the same. He used to simply place his order, then step back and scroll through his phone as he waited. Now he talks to her as she heats his soymilk, asking her about her day or sharing some random fact about bacterial growth in food preparation areas that makes Darcy laugh and the other customers squirm. She loves the way he always makes sure to use her name once he learns it, the way he starts to blush whenever she sustains eye contact, and the way he fumbles with his change on the days she wears a low-cut top.

Darcy dusts the two styrofoam cups with chocolate, presses plastic lids on top and pushes them across the counter to the waiting Marines. With no other customers to serve, she picks up a damp cloth and starts wiping down tables, and if she happens to be on a direct course for Spencer, well, she’s still totally working so shut up.

Darcy picks up the empty glass from the table next to his and wipes the ring of condensation away. Spencer looks engrossed in his book, a thoughtful finger pressed to his lips as he reads.

“How’s that latte, Spencer?” she asks.

She gets no response whatsoever, and the expression on his face reminds her a little of Jane when she’s absorbed in her work.

Unperturbed, Darcy moves closer and tries again. _“Spencer.”_

His eyes snap up from the book to her face. “Darcy. I’m sorry, did you say something? I tend to get a bit...immersed...sometimes,” he says, his lip twitching in an apologetic smile.

Darcy smiles back and takes a seat on the arm of the couch opposite him. “Don’t worry. I intern for an astrophysicist, I know what you science types are like.”

“An astrophysicist?” he asks, brows rising. He closes the book, using his index finger to keep his place. “That sounds fascinating.”

“Even more than you would imagine,” she says with an enigmatic smile, and, because this opening is as good as any, she makes her move. “I’d love to tell you about it sometime. Maybe over dinner?”

He considers this for a moment, a touch of the deer-in-the-headlights about him, and Darcy starts to wonder whether the direct approach was the best idea, but then Mr Adorably Awkward quirks a smile and says, “That sounds great.”

They have just enough time to make plans for Friday night and exchange phone numbers before a group of college kids come through the door and Darcy has to get back to work.

* * *

Darcy spends the next day with her eyes peeled for her preppy-hipster genius crush, but to no avail, and concludes that he must be away on a case. She considers texting him to ask as much but decides against it, not wanting to come on too strong. He doesn’t come in the next morning either, which makes perfect sense if he’s in another part of the country for a few days, but it’s still a bummer.

It’s five minutes to close and the store is silent except for the Angus and Julia Stone CD playing softly in the background. Darcy is the only one rostered on and it’s been so quiet for the last hour that she’s pretty much finished the close already.

She has her back turned, restocking the napkins, when she hears the door open. She adds one more wad of napkins to the dispenser and turns around, but there’s no one waiting at the counter. A quick survey of the room reveals Spencer in the far corner, dropping his satchel on a coffee table and sinking down onto a couch.

It’s a low couch—too low, really, for someone with legs as long as his. He curls his hands around his knees and lets his head tip to the side until it’s resting against the wall.

Darcy holds back on calling out a cheerful greeting across the sea of empty tables and chairs. Instead, she makes her way over to his corner, locking the front door as she goes.

He doesn’t look up as she approaches, his gaze fixed on something several feet away, or perhaps on nothing at all.

“Hey,” she says cautiously as she unties her apron and slides it onto the table next to his bag. She tucks one leg underneath herself as she sits down beside him. “How’s it going?”

“I saw some really horrible things at work today,” he says without preamble. His voice is small, almost toneless, and it breaks her heart just a little.

“Worse than usual?” she asks.

He nods. “I just got off the plane, and I know you work Wednesday evenings...” He trails off, his focus still lost to the middle distance. “You’re closing up, I should go,” he says, though he doesn’t actually move.

“No, you absolutely shouldn’t go,” she assures him, putting a careful hand on his knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, thank you.”

“How ‘bout a hug, then?”

Finally he turns his head to look at her, surprise in his tired, sad eyes. He nods wordlessly.

He lifts one arm so she can snuggle in against his side and rest her head on his shoulder. She takes the hand that’s wrapped around his other knee and laces their fingers together over his stomach.

Her breathing changes to match his as his breaths gradually deepen and lengthen, and they stay like that for a long time, each thinking their own thoughts.

* * *

When he comes in the next morning, it’s at the same time as a bus-load of tourists.  


“Hey,” Darcy and Spencer say in unison when he finally reaches the front of the line. She grins, and he gives her a bashful little smile in return.

“I was hoping it would be quieter,” he says, tipping his head towards the swarm of people around them as she types his regular order into the register.

“You need to talk?” she asks, looking at him more closely as he hands over a ten dollar bill. He’s looking a little tired, maybe, but seems much better than when he’d arrived last night.

“Just wanted to say thank you.”

For a moment the noise of the busy coffee shop is drowned out by the earnest sincerity in his eyes.

She cups his hand with her own and tips his change into his palm, leaning in as close as the counter between them allows. “Yeah, well, it was pretty horrible, all cuddled up to you like that,” she smiles.

They don’t get a chance to speak again before he leaves, but she draws a little ‘xo’ on his cup next to his name, and he gives her a wave over the top of the crowd on his way out the door.

* * *

Darcy is doing data entry in Jane’s lab at the Quantico marine base on Friday morning when her phone buzzes on the desk next to her keyboard. Her insides flutter happily when she sees it’s a text from Spencer, but that feeling sours quickly as she starts to read.  


_Darcy, I’m really sorry but I need to cancel our date. You’re amazing, but I’m experiencing high levels of anxiety in anticipation of tonight and I’ve decided I can’t go ahead with it. I know this might be hard for you to understand—you always seem so at ease with people—but I hope you’ll accept my sincere apologies. Spencer._

It’s like a punch to the gut, and she’s glad she’s already sitting down. She glances over at Jane, who is muttering to herself behind her own computer and thankfully hasn’t noticed that a brilliant, awkward, beautiful chunk of Darcy’s world has just fallen away.

She reads the text again, and by the time she gets to the end of it the second time, she’s kicking herself. She should have known better than to go in guns blazing, suggesting a restaurant dinner date straight off the bat. Or maybe the anxiety thing is just a lie to protect her feelings because he’s decided he doesn’t want to date her. She feels a little sick.

There’s no way she’s going to be able to bring her focus back to the interminably long list of data points on her screen any time soon, so she slides out of her seat, mumbles something that Jane probably doesn’t register anyway about going to make a cup of tea, and makes her way to the kitchenette at the end of the hall.

She finds a mug, throws a generic-brand tea bag in it and fills it from the urn on the wall. She rests her hip against the counter as the tea steeps and reads the text a third time. This time her brain kicks into problem-solving mode.

If he’s decided he just isn’t interested in her (which he’s totally allowed to do, but godamnit please don’t let that be it!) then it won’t matter what she texts back, but if he’s telling the truth, and he really does have anxiety issues, maybe there’s a work-around to be found here.

She digs a teaspoon out of the top draw, squashes and tosses the teabag and stirs a dash of milk into the cup, then sits down at the small table with her tea and starts composing a reply.

_I don’t know, I think I get it. Dinner can be kind of intimidating, what with all that enforced eye contact and silence to fill. If you’ve changed your mind about hanging out with me, that’s okay, but if you’re up for it, maybe we could do something a bit less intense. Want to go see a movie on Saturday afternoon just as friends?_

She reads over her response, trying to think if she should add anything else. She hopes she's covered the most likely variables. Sitting quietly next to someone in a movie theatre requires way less eye contact and conversation than going to a restaurant, and Saturday afternoon is a much more low-key timeslot than a Friday night. And finally, if it’s the fact that it was officially a ‘date’ that was setting his nerves on edge, then Darcy’s got no problem removing that label. They’d be spending time together and getting to know each other either way, and that’s all she really cares about.

She knows anxiety isn’t always logical, but at the very least she hopes her text shows that she’s not phased by it and that she’s happy to do whatever his nervous system is comfortable with.

She hits send and finds herself counting the moments that follow in quickened pulse beats as she stares at the screen. She takes a sip of tea and reminds herself that it could be minutes—hours, even—before he responds, but the moment she sets her tea back down, her phone buzzes again.

She snatches it off the table, and she can almost hear his relief as she reads the reply.

_That sounds perfect, thank you so much. Being honest about my anxiety never usually goes this well. Did I mention you’re amazing? x_

Darcy feels literally giddy, and if this tea room were anywhere other than a military base, she’d be strongly tempted to slide out of her chair and have a little roll around on the floor. She contents herself with clutching a hand to her chest—because the poor guy; having anxiety must be bad enough without other people being dicks about it—and scrunching her face up in glee, especially over that little ‘x’ at the end.

So she makes her way to the cinema on Saturday afternoon and greets him with a warm smile and a shoulder bump. As they wait in line for their tickets she encourages him to talk about topics that interest him and makes it her responsibility to fill the silences in between, but he seems to be at his usual Spencer level of comfort with the world around him, and in spite of the fact that they’re out together ‘just as friends’, or perhaps because of it, it’s Spencer’s fingers that walk their way down the arm rest halfway through the movie and thread themselves through Darcy’s.

At the end of the movie they leave the cinema hand in hand, having an animated discussion about the role of artificial intelligence in the future of humanity, and the other themes of the film.

They get to the entrance of the cinema and she’s prepared to let him off the hook at that point, to say a polite goodbye and part ways, despite how badly she wants to reel him in by his necktie and kiss the crap out of him. But by mutual agreement, they stroll down to the park and wander along the edge of the Potomac.

The light of the setting sun tints the clouds a pale orange, and a gentle breeze rolls off the river. A few locals are still making use of the park, but most have packed up their picnic blankets and headed home for the day.

The sound of the river lapping against its bank is almost as pleasant as the way Spencer’s thumb drifts idly over Darcy’s as they walk. He stops to watch two kayaks gliding over the water on the opposite bank and she stops beside him.

“So, I know this isn’t a date,” he starts, but he’s kind of smiling because, technicalities aside, they both know it totally _is_ a date. She chews her lip and smiles too, waiting for the ‘but’. “But I think I’d really like to kiss you.”

Her smile widens as she turns towards him. “What a coincidence. I was just thinking the same thing.”

“Oh yeah?” he says as he closes what little distance is left between them. She tips her face up to his as he gently cups the side of her jaw and strokes her cheek with his thumb.

She wonders at first if he’s hesitating, nervous, the way he leans in close without kissing her straight away, but his clear hazel eyes are warm and the fingers against her skin are sure.

He lets the moment unfurl in its own time, then presses his lips to hers. The kiss is slow and sweet, almost reverent, and his lips are as soft as they look. She untangles her fingers from his so she can slide both hands around his waist. His free hand finds her hip.

The kiss ends as slowly as it began. Darcy doesn’t hold back her little hum of contentment as she wraps her arms more tightly around him and presses her cheek to his chest. His arms encircle her and she feels his chin rest on the top of her head for a few moments. 

“I think I’ve changed my mind about dinner,” he murmurs against her hair. She can hear the small smile in his voice, like he knows how silly he sounds. “Is that still on the cards, or...?”

 She grins against the soft wool of his vest. “You bet.”


End file.
